Perchance to Dream
by FuschiaBoots
Summary: Good girls don’t always dream of good things.


Title: Perchance to Dream

Author: spikeyboots

Pairing: Lily/a number of others

Rating: R

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. They just sweet talk my muse.

Genre: angst, het (don't let that put you off!)

Summary: Good girls don't always dream of good things.

Author's Notes: Lily is a very, very interesting character when given half a chance...

Lily liked to daydream. She had a favourite window, in the Hollow; it was the only one where you could actually see beyond the valley itself. There was a glimpse of a heather covered mountain, and the hint of a never-ending horizon. In the summer you could sometimes catch a breath of the sea, and she liked to imagine she could smell rich Indian spices being traded illegally by pirates in some forgotten cove.

She would sit on the little window seat, Harry in his carrycot beside her, and just dream of all the other choices she could have made. Writing and rewriting the stories out in her mind, each one better than the last. Each one infinitely better than the life she lived.

Her current favourite, inspired by the blue bells blooming in the long uncut grass under the window, saw her follow Remus outside one day near the end of sixth year.

He had said, 'I'm going to go down to the lake.' And he had looked at her carefully. Studying every part of her like he did when he read books by candlelight in the common room. It had scared her then. She had giggled, then lied, saying she was supposed to meet a friend.

In her daydream she followed him down to the lake, where he took her hands and whispered her dozens of secrets in her ear in that measured, hypnotic voice. Then he handed her a blue bell, and kissed her, a sweet, adolescent sort of kiss that meant no more than a kiss, til she couldn't remember which was up and which was down.

As the sun passed overhead, and the afternoon shadows lengthened she daydreamed that she had said yes to the opportunity to work in the Department of Mysteries. She imagined days given over to the pursuit of some great answer, some important advance, something more. She invented debates with the Minister, and challenges to the entrenched wizarding methods supported by the Blacks', Malfoys' and even the Potters'.

When dusk fell, and a lavender chill crept in on the air, she would cover Harry in another blanket, but keep the window open, to feed the darkness her stories. In these she hadn't fled from the dungeons one night in her second year when she caught a glimpse of pale blond hair silhouetted in blue-green light. She hadn't run, heart pounding back to the crimson, womb-like safety of the Gryffindor common room.

Instead she crept inside, fascinated, pulse beating painfully against her temples. Lucius Malfoy smiled that feral sort of smile he had, and told her all the secrets of potion making. His long fingers drawing out of her that subtle power that made her thrill, like a just struck bell, vibrating in places she never new existed. And that would all come before he pressed his hand between her thighs.

If night fell, and James still hadn't returned she would pull the drapes closed, letting them blow softly against her skin, and dream of yet more choices.

Once, late one night after their graduation, they were all drunk at James' parent's house. All had disappeared and she was left with Sirius, and a bottle of Bloodrum. He had read her tarot cards. The Empress, the three of Cups, the ten of Swords. He had pushed his body against hers, smelling of tobacco and sweat, and traced her jaw line with one strong finger. She had pushed him away and chosen to go upstairs to James.

Done differently in her dreams she imagined being beneath him, his taut muscles straining, his eyes dark with desire for her. She saw him consume her, and saw herself bedevil him.

Of course, James eventually always came home, and Lily would close the window, tidy her hair and wake Harry up.

She would smile and perch delicately on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek. He would peck her forehead and grin at Harry.

Sometimes one, or all of them; Sirius, Remus and Peter, would tumble in after James and give her a wink or a wave before piling in around the kitchen table. Sometimes Remus would remember to give her a hug, and in that moment Lily sometimes felt she would just dissolve into molecules.

She knew she had used up all her choices. She loved Harry. And she did love James. But she saw there was only one straight road before her that stretched on infinitely until it faded from sight.

Lily liked to daydream.


End file.
